A Visor for A Visor
by hp1piececraziness
Summary: Mercutio is known as a cynic, full of infinite jest. He prided himself for feigning such a role, but in the end it's all vain fantasy. He shall never forget the childhood trauma or how his elder brother deceived him or how his remaining kinsmen loathe him. He cannot ignore that the love he knows to be so pure is scorned. Mercutio's life from childhood to death. Bencutio SLASH.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I, of course, do not own ****Romeo and Juliet**** or anything associated with it. Even if this disclaimer wasn't here, I think we all know that William Shakespeare never had a account. Character imagery follows Franco Zefirelli's 1968 movie adaptation of ****Romeo and Juliet****.**

**Overall Warning: Child abuse/neglect, general violence, angst, depression, implied themes, and character death.**

**Author's Note: For this story, Mercutio is 20 years old during the time of the actual play, Benvolio is 19 and Valentine is 34. Reviews are very much appreciated, with the exception of flames. There is eventual Benvolio X Mercutio slash (as well as some in the prologue); don't like, don't read.**

_Prologue_

Offense and apologies are never evenly balanced. A single thoughtless sentence can invoke grievous effects that a full omnibus of apologies may never fully mend. Mercutio had experienced proof of this observation countless times. Each occasion, the initial reaction varied.

This time, it was laughter.

Perhaps this was due to the recent festivities at the Capulets' home (there had certainly been no paucity of wine), for there was nothing remotely jovial about Romeo's words, which seemed to reverberate throughout Mercutio's mind as affronts often do, rapidly growing to torment him further. He could sense Benvolio's worried gaze upon him; it scarcely came as a surprise.

"'He jests at scars that never felt a wound', quoth he," Mercutio exclaimed. "Why, is this not a curious bit of jest to augment his counterfeit, Benvolio? The slip does not satisfy thy dear coz, but perchance the addition of mockery shall do so!"

He heard Benvolio's tentative approaching footsteps, but chose to ignore them.

"Ay, here is one who becomes the topic most excellently," Mercutio muttered, forcing a smile for reasons he did not fully understand. "Here is one with so vast a knowledge of these troubles whilst I am most ignorant on the subject… one who has grown so learned of sorrows over the years whilst I have reveled in a life of jest. Marry, here is the one!"

His voice grew steadily louder with each word. He wondered if Romeo could hear him, and almost wished it to be so. Yet, the latter was too engulfed in a pit of naïve, impetuous affection to give a thought to anything but his unrequited love. The prisoner had grown foolish and impertinent in his captivity.

"Mercutio," Benvolio said quietly; each word was heavy with hesitant concern. "Prithee, do not fall so quickly to rage. Thou know'st he intends no harm. He knows not his words' offense."

"'He knows not'," Mercutio repeated as though the phrase was particularly vile to the tongue. "Thou speakst true, Benvolio. He is ignorant, in twice the sense now!"

Despite their bitter nature, the words seemed hollow, a scathing reminder that however much Mercutio spat out curses or threats, satisfaction was no more than a futile dream for him and Romeo was scarcely the slightest perpetrator in the matter. Yet, denouncing the true culprits seemed no less fruitless than condemning another. Neither would be any recompense for the scars.

It was times like these when the illusion Mercutio had founded and sustained so attentively shattered that summoned back the trying years. His illusion could conceal much but could alter nothing, and he found himself feeling detached and deserted in ways no different from his childhood, the thought of which always induced a sharp chill.

"'Twould please me beyond measure if his words were true," Mercutio added gravely.

He took a few stiff, aimless steps down the street. Their dull echo barely seemed to disturb the night. This was not the first occasion of the sort, and it seemed to mirror the one before. Mercutio wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, a feeble, instinctual attempt to provide himself solace. _Yes, even the cloak was the same he had worn that night…_

His thoughts were diverted upon noticing Benvolio hurrying after him. Mercutio whipped around, glaring at the other man.

"Wherefore dost thou linger here?" he snapped. "Art thou without kin or abode to return to?"

"Wilt thou not linger still alone if I were to part thee?" Benvolio protested. "Would the fault not be greater for mine own part by this act?"

Mercutio scowled. He could dissuade Benvolio from most positions with a few cunning words. However, the latter clearly viewed this as a matter dire enough to be an exception to the rule and Mercutio knew that wit would not win this dispute. Unable to find a suitable retort, he remained silent, allowing Benvolio to proceed; the situation seemed surreal for both men.

"And wouldst thou not prefer a confidant over solitude?" Benvolio asked; his voice was gentle, each word devised to delicately circumvent an outburst.

Forcing himself to suppress the visceral wariness that had steadily grown in him from a tender age, Mercutio nodded and made a few more steps towards Benvolio. With anyone else, the memories of his uncle's saccharine words of treachery and Valentine's purely ephemeral support would immediately force Mercutio into withdrawn vigilance and mistrust. Though he still struggled to suppress this, he was now able to accept Benvolio's consolation.

"Ay," he replied softly. "'Tis so."

Benvolio smiled slightly at this response. It was in no way a spiteful grin, and Mercutio marveled at how he suspected nothing of the sort. With any other man, the slightest hint of a sneer could provoke him to a dispute. Yet now, when he was trembling and wandering about like a lost madman, the ideal subject of mockery, he felt no threat from the young Montague he'd once thought to be no more than a naïve, pampered fool.

"'Twill not serve to remain here," Benvolio murmured, glancing about to assure that they were still alone. "I fear some restless soul shall shatter our secrecy."

"I shall not venture there," Mercutio's words were stiffly adamant, but there was an underlying tone of fear that eradicated any threatening command. "'Twould please more to endure the harshest storm here than the torments enclosed in that cursed household. Lest thou wilt…"

"Peace, Mercutio," Benvolio said quickly. "I intend no such means as would displease thee, and if I am deceived in this, I shall not thrust such plans upon thee perforce. Though whether thou canst ever evade the dread thou speakst of is not a matter of my will."

"Beit so, what dost thou intend?" Mercutio chose to ignore the last remark.

"My mother is away with her husband," Benvolio replied. "And the servants shall be of no disturbance. My household shall serve for the solitude we seek… thy presence there is as common as my own of late."

This was true indeed. Mercutio had paid many visits to the estate of Lord Montague, courtesy of Romeo, but these had been of casual, frivolous purpose. Contrastingly, the home of the patriarch's late brother, Benvolio's father, had been a place of refuge and catharsis for Mercutio, especially in recent years. Indeed, he had found more relief there than he could imagine having amongst his own kinsmen. He could not help but grin slightly at the mention of the times of "solitude" with Benvolio; even the most sorrowful felt like a blessing.

"'Twill please me if it does thee evenly," he murmured.

"Then let us go tither presently."

With that, the two began their way up the cobblestone slope. The distance was brief, but the absence of the daytime crowd and clamor made it seem longer. Mercutio stumbled slightly, though this was not due to the darkness; as his mind had drifted back towards other times, he seemed to further lose sense of the present, and the wine from the party certainly did not mitigate these effects.

He felt Benvolio's hand on his shoulder and instinctively tensed at the touch. Gathering himself again, he slowly relaxed. Again, he wondered why he was able to take such ease in this steady grip when any other hand would arouse only anxiety and abhorrence for such contact. Even Valentine's embrace was cold to Mercutio now; the security of his elder brother's presence that he'd cherished as a young boy had long since faded as all lies do.

"By what skill hast thou ensnared me, Benvolio?" he muttered.

"Nay, 'tis no skill by my own part," Benvolio said. "'Tis merely knowledge and comprehension."

"Thou art deceived," Mercutio was taken aback by the desperation in his own voice. "There is wit in both, wit that others want. Of what form is it?"

Benvolio turned to face him, his countenance grave and pensive. A short silence followed in which the night seemed to grow thicker and overwhelming.

"Knowledge," Benvolio answered at length. "Is of thy own making. Thou hast revealed to me what I may use to conceive… but the perception, if thou wilt pardon my calling it so, is still of another make. It comes of experience. I have heard thee rail on thy kinsmen, seen thy disquiet for fear that they shall learn of our affections truly. I have woken in the night when thou canst no longer suppress past horrors and given my feeble counsel as thou hast wept."

"Thou wilt witness the like again, I fear," Mercutio murmured, smiling bitterly as they continued down the path.

The words proved true. No sooner had Benvolio ushered away the servants and secured their seclusion in his bed chamber than Mercutio allowed another deluge of tears and cries he'd buried to surface. He thought dully of how wretched he looked, his kinsmen's disapproval echoing through his mind. One voice stood out, for it spoke in guidance, not disgust.

_"Thou wilt mend no flaws with thy tears, Mercutio. Yet, they are a necessity for an elegiac soul. Conceal them from scorn when thou must, but do not dwell too deeply in this idleness, seeking aid in a practice that shall yield none."_

_"If you did think it so, Valentine, wherefore did you leave me no other source of relief?" _Mercutio thought, grimly.

Noticing Benvolio's arms around him once more, his heart lightened slightly. He had not been quick to find it, but another source had come. Indeed, it was confined by harsh society, but in the dark secrecy, no shame or scorn from the blind critics could deprive Mercutio of its entirety.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

_13 Years Ago_

"Out upon't!" Valentine nearly shouted.

Mercutio watched nervously as his elder brother attempted to regain equanimity, if there was any to regain; Valentine had his virtues, but patience had never been one of them.

"I know well the discomfort," Valentine sighed. "Howbeit, struggling shall not lessen the pain. Thou know'st so, for I have uttered the same words twice and once this night!"

Mercutio nodded and tried not to squirm away at the stinging touch of the wet cloth. The welts across his arms and back still burned, and the water certainly did not alleviate the agony. Nonetheless, his brother did not intend to hurt him, nor had he ever done so, and Mercutio took great comfort in knowing this. Still, he was instinctively on edge during Valentine's outbursts. He was no imprudent child when it came to these matters and he knew it was better to be ever wary than to be caught unprepared for a blow.

Still, there was much relief that came with these few moments alone with Valentine. After all, they were the one of the rare events that ever occurred in the family's household that did not end with sorrow or new hurts. These occasions were far from perfect (the circumstances would never allow them to be so) but the boons outweighed the flaws.

"What tale shalt thou present tomorrow?" Valentine asked after a few minutes. "A quarrel with another boy?"

"Yes," Mercutio replied.

Valentine paused and shook his head.

"We shall want anon a new counterfeit," he muttered. "The excuse hath been the same thrice 'ere now, though it be not at all implausible."

Mercutio smiled slightly at his brother's last remark. Valentine had a few friends with younger relatives, whom he had attempted to introduce Mercutio to in hopes that some form of friendship or at least casual acquaintance would develop. Neither of these conditions had ever prospered, though quite a few quarrels had resulted from Valentine's efforts. Mercutio found the other young boys either conceited, dull or at times, a mixture of both, and their own opinions of him were evidently far from flattering. Given the combination of the two, one could scarcely expect any fruitful outcomes.

"It will not cause trouble," Mercutio replied after a while. "Few ask for a reason. They care not."

"Apathy may be a blessing," Valentine sighed. "Even with infinite wit, 'twould be impossible to devise a lie for every incident… but do conceal that which cannot be excused. The mark on thy face could well be from a dispute with one of a few more years and greater strength. The rest must be hidden, lest thou wilt claim to have fought with a boy wielding a leather band."

Valentine put away the wet cloth and proceeded to dry the wounds. Mercutio admittedly would have preferred if this had been done in a slightly gentler fashion, but there was no point in requesting such. It had already been made clear on numerous occasions that he was not to expect any coddling or inane euphemisms from his brother.

"Understating for the sake of cossetting is arrant perjury," the latter had stated on a similar instance during which the struggling had continued for much longer, and Valentine's patience had waned to the borders of its existence. "Six years do not earn one much respect. Yet, thou dost deserve the respect of honesty. That much I will grant. If truth or necessities prove grim, let them be so displayed to thee. I shall not tarry to soften a task merely to gaze upon it later with malcontent. Mark this, Mercutio. I'll be hanged the day I'm forsworn."

About a year had passed since that day, and Mercutio had not forgotten those words. So, he sat quietly on the edge of the bed, allowing Valentine to continue with his task.

"Valentine," Mercutio said, finally braving the inquiry he'd desired to ask for a good bit of time. "Will you take me to the public square tomorrow?"

"It is not far from here," Valentine replied, frowning. "Thou canst go tither easily without assistance, as you have done many times 'ere now. 'Tis safe enough in the late morrow or midday, when the crowds loiter about."

"But I'd much prefer if you go along," Mercutio insisted. "'Tis very dull to be alone."

"And, it being so dull, one would question why thou canst not draw thyself away from it," Valentine retorted.

"Give me but one other choice and that shall change!" Mercutio cried. "Valentine, you know–"

Before he could finish, Valentine shushed him and hurried door, staring out into the corridor. After a few moments, he returned to the bedside, looking sternly down at Mercutio.

"Speak quietly, though the matter calls for wails," Valentine said. "We need not another altercation with Father this night."

Mercutio cringed at the thought of another dispute. There would be many more such occasions, better or worse. There would be fresh tears and further injury. He knew that well, but nonetheless preferred not to think of it.

"I am aware wherefore thou art afeard," Valentine continued. "Howsoe'er, thou shalt not 'scape punishment, deserved or not, with impudence. How late was the hour at which thou didst return? Ay, threats fester hereabout, but when darkness falls, greater perils lie in the streets."

"I have greater reasons," Mercutio protested. "Father and Uncle have… done awful things. More frightening than the beatings… though I know not why."

His voice diminished to a whimper and he could not bring himself to speak more on the topic. Shivering, he bit his lip to hold back a sob. Valentine seemed equally lost for words. His face blanched and he bowed his head, muttering something incoherent to himself. He had a habit of doing so, and Mercutio often wondered what angered or comforting phrases his brother uttered to himself. Whether the words were that of a prayer or quiet curses, they seemed to provide some reassurance.

"Marry, thou know'st not why," Valentine said at last, his voice softer than before. "Thou shouldst not need know why and 'tis a lamentable thing that thou needest ponder the nature of this evil. I would ne'er conceal that which thou canst comprehend, but any explanation now would be in vain. I mean not to say that thou lackest wit, but this treachery is not within childhood conception."

He came to sit beside Mercutio and let out another long sigh.

"I cannot promise that thou wilt be spared the same horrors in the future," he said, solemnly. "Though it grieves me to say so. Nonetheless, I shall do as I can to assuage the hurts when they come, or stay the few that I may. I cannot tell thee simply, 'be not afeard', but do not let fright govern thy life. We shall seek out the joys, wherever they be hidden by the sorrows. Incomplete compensation, but a blessing yet."

"And when terror returns?" Mercutio managed to stammer through his tears. "What then is there to do?"

"Then, may we have the strength to endure our trials," came Valentine's grave reply.

He ran a hand through his russet hair and shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice had grown even more laced with bitterness, with a strange underlying resolution.

"The time grows short 'ere we shall pay a visit to our kinsmen," Valentine sounded as though he was speaking half to himself. "An important event indeed. There we shall meet the villain with his crooked grin and other devious gestures. Around such a man, chariness can never come in too great a measure. He can be deterred…"

The simple mention of this "villain" brought a surge of apprehension over Mercutio. As a very young child, he had hoped that life would only hold one abysmal adversary; the stories always spoke of a single central antagonist, but as usual, the old tales held only lies. His uncle was vile in his own deceitful fashion, and somehow his actions seemed even more egregious, as they had always occurred in the same edifice that citizens gathered at to seek justice. If only the people of Verona knew what iniquities the Prince's own cousins had committed in shadowed chambers, the ornate palace would no longer epitomize rectitude.

"Valentine?" Mercutio asked tentatively. "Why does the Prince not stop his kinsmen?'

"The source of Escalus's idleness on the subject has been stated in thy inquiry," Valentine answered. "'Tis a hapless thing that the fiends that afflict us are the Prince's kindred. It ensnares him in quite a riddle. Our kin's repute would be sullied if he condemned his relations. Private words are of no effect, yet clear punishment would undoubtedly become a public matter in time, a matter at which Verona would rise up in whispers and gossip of what other secrets are kept by the ruling house. Favor is not with our struggles, Mercutio, but this shall not have us undone."

He then rose from the bed and took Mercutio up into his arms.

"Come," Valentine whispered. "I shall bear thee to thy chamber."

Mercutio said nothing in reply but buried his face in his brother's shoulder. It was not often that Valentine would carry him, but Mercutio certainly enjoyed it. There was something soothing about the embrace that made him ignore the lingering smell of wine on Valentine's clothes, one that he was often wary of when associated with other older men.

The walk to his bedchamber was short and Mercutio soon found himself set back into the soft covers of his own bed. He was relieved to be out of the open hall, no matter how short the time in it. There was always a chilling fear of being caught by his father during these clandestine meetings with Valentine. He was quite certain that their father suspected something of the sort, but chose not to hinder them. Valentine did do a fine job concealing Mercutio's bruises and other wounds, and assuring that they healed properly. This prevented the need for a doctor whose inquiries about the manner of injury would undoubtedly harm the family's reputation.

Nonetheless, Mercutio always feared that his father would one day decide to end his meetings with Valentine. The latter was now a young man nearing the age of twenty-one, but Mercutio knew well that Valentine's will was still far inferior to that of their father. He did not know how he would withstand the pains without his brother. There had been a few nightmares depicting this, which had led to many tearful nights.

"The hour grows very late," Valentine said. "Tomorrow I shall try to find time to take thee to the public square. Till then, rest, and let us hope that dreams shall not trouble thee."

With that, he left for his own chamber. Mercutio listened for the soft thud down the corridor signifying that his brother had made it back to bed without being stopped. He then wrapped the blankets tightly around himself, for it was a cold night. Sleep came quickly to the exhausted child. However, his brother's parting words were defied and Mercutio was soon jolted awake by a nightmare. He had managed to suppress a cry this time. Peering out into the dimly lit room, he found that he was still alone. There was no sign of anyone stirring in the corridor.

After some thought, he decided against rushing back to Valentine's room. He was old enough to push aside the terrors of dreams himself. Nonetheless, the memories of chilling hands and cruel voices remained with him, and despite his longing for rest, pacifying slumber did not come for another long hour.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Upon greatly abridging the barrier of sleep, morning seemed adjoined to the previous night. The surprisingly potent beams of sunlight shining through the bedchamber's windows were the first things Mercutio sensed, followed by the harsh sound of the door being forcefully swung open. He did not have time to rise to see who had entered before a rough pair of hands seized him and flung him off the bed.

The hard impact with the floor was accompanied by a sharp kick. Mercutio could feel his increasingly frantic pulse as he wondered whether it would be foolish to stand up when he would likely be struck down once more. He did not get the chance to deliberate this for long.

"Thou sluggish boy! How! Wilt thou be so insolent as to not rise and look upon thy father when he speaks to thee?"

Mercutio hastily lifted himself off the ground, though the aggravated bruises made it painful to do so. His father glowered down at him, searching for the first flaw to lash out at. The multitude of terrible events that haunted every corner of the family manor were all concentrated in that livid gaze and it took great effort for Mercutio to speak coherently as it pierced him.

"I cry your worship's mercy, sir," his voice was tremulous, but it likely pleased his father to hear every word dripping with submission and fright; a bold reply would only evoke greater ire as Valentine had proven before.

The ensuing silence only fed the tension. Mercutio knew he was not yet permitted to flee the room as he so desperately wished to; he scarcely escaped with a simple apology unless his father's rage was diverted to another victim.

"I intended no insolence," he managed to stutter. "Sleep did not come simply–"

The resulting blow made him stumble back against his bed.

"A most feeble excuse! 'Twill grant thee no pardon…"

Mercutio cringed, awaiting further punishment for his unknown crime.

"But I have not the time for thy base antics. Hie thee hence!"

Upon hearing these words, Mercutio felt a numb surge of relief. His father had other matters to attend to, which likely meant he would be gone for the remainder of the day and perhaps the evening as well. The sort of business his father engaged in during his absence had ever been a subject of curiosity for Mercutio. He certainly enjoyed some small dose of ease during these circumstances, but they seemed to bring great distress to the household.

His mother would weep for matters that Valentine never fully explained. Sometimes, the latter was able to mollify these troubles, at other times such efforts proved futile and Valentine would leave their parent's bedchamber looking greatly vexed and wearied. Mercutio had learned not to involve himself with such troubles; they were ephemeral, but turbulent, and his attempted support seem to exacerbate the distress.

These happenings were not the present quandary, however. Seizing his chance to leave before his father could consider otherwise, Mercutio scampered away into the hallway. Mingled voices of the household servants echoed from the lower levels. It was likely too late for breakfast and Mercutio doubted any food had been saved for him, nor would such actions be permitted, but this was no debacle. He had been denied nourishment for longer durations before; Valentine had taught him that slight hunger was better ignored and stoically tolerated. It was all punitive discomfort, and he needed not fear severe malnourishment. Nonetheless, Mercutio hoped that Valentine would purchase something for him to eat at the marketplace.

Mercutio glanced down the hall at his parent's bedchamber. The doors were shut, likely locked, and his mother was undoubtedly inside. He doubted she had left the room since waking in the morning; she rarely did so by her own will. Mercutio had always found this curious, unable to imagine why one would choose dull confinement, only to grow more displeased by company and further discontented with solitude. The paradox had existed from the time of his earliest memories, and its origin likely lay before then. Yet, some strange instinct drew the young boy to act against all he knew of it.

A serving girl answered the door when he knocked. Mercutio had seen her many times each of which varied minimally from the others. After giving him a short phlegmatic gaze, she beckoned for him to enter and closed the door behind them. There would be no greeting or smile. The quicker she could be rid of the boy, the sooner she could restore her mistress's contentment.

"Madam," she called. "Your son desires to see you."

The other woman was seated on an ornate chair, busied with a small vase of scarlet carnations. She appeared to be only a few years over thirty, yet she seemed to be carrying a myriad of hollow years far exceeding the proper count. Her flowers looked atrophied and no less wearied than their keeper.

"Good morrow to you, madam," Mercutio said hesitantly.

"Thy brother Valentine hath not yet returned?" his mother questioned; her gaze remained fixed on her carnations.

"I knew not of his parting," Mercutio replied, frowning.

"Ay, well 'twould be none short of a miracle if he had not left," his mother scoffed, indignantly. "'Ere the first ray of dawning was seen, he departed. Tis too great a courtesy to bid me farewell or impart to me the reason!"

A few petals drifted down from the blossoms, having been overly ruffled. Mercutio eyed them, crimson fans blending into white tips. He perceived them as tiny bloodied handkerchiefs, drifting desolately to the ground. _Injury by profuse attention. _He often wondered on the subject, and how it fared juxtaposed to the sting of neglect.

"Lest I be a fool, and thus the conditions befitting, thou hast no care for the matter but for thine own desire to do as Valentine has," his mother remarked, finally turning to look upon him coldly.

"Not if the matter does so displease you, madam," Mercutio said quickly, only to receive a glare of further derision.

"Did thy brother tutor thee on this falsehood? Or perchance 'twas our dear Paris. It matters not who thy teacher be. They shall be most pleased that thou hast the mark of a grand sycophant!"

Mercutio frowned. He had heard Valentine call Paris a "sycophant" before with apparent distaste, but the meaning had never been entirely lucid. Nonetheless, the term was clearly no form of approbation, though Mercutio knew not why he was deserving of it.

"Where is Catalina? I shall speak with her presently… nay, when? Go and tell her so!" his mother rose upon hearing her husband's voice echo down the hall.

"Ah, my name?" she muttered. "Marry, acknowledgement is most sweet when affection proves too great a wish."

As though remembering her son's presence, she turned to Mercutio and said resentfully, "Go as thou wilt please. I know well that thou dost not desire to loiter about here. Do as thou wilt, for what follows is not of my culpability."

"Fare you well then, madam," Mercutio said.

"Such would be to my content if it proved possible for either of us," came the solemn reply. "But prithee, do try not to further displease thy father."

Mercutio nodded, though he did not believe he could fulfill such a request. No sooner had he left and started down the hall than his father strode into the room, slamming the door behind him. The young boy chose not to stay to hear what matter had provoked such frustration. He doubted it was of unusual urgency and did not wish to risk being caught eavesdropping.

Instead, he scurried back to his own chamber and hurried to get dressed into presentable wear. He brought nothing with him other than the small wooden sword Valentine had given him. Gentlemen knew how to fence, and Mercutio had decided at the age of six that the time was ripe to begin learning the art. However, their aunt had nearly swooned upon seeing Mercutio struggling with a fully sharpened rapier, which he had retrieved by climbing atop a chair. The safer alternative consisted of a long rod and a makeshift handle constructed with various wooden parts. Valentine was now much more attentive in leaving his own weapon in places that were much more elevated.

To his great relief, he parted the house without being hindered. The autumn air was cool against his face as he strolled down the cobblestone path, allowing the trepidation to subside. No one would hurt him here; at least, no one had tried, though his brother often warned him of the numerous dangers in public places.

There was a group of boys in the public square reenacting an elaborate duel. As the last child fell over with a histrionic cry of "I am slain", the group gathered around the remaining victor, who grinned smugly upon his triumph. Upon seeing Mercutio his smirk widened.

"Wilt thou join us?" he called out.

"Why would I do so?" Mercutio yelled back.

The other boy took a few strides towards him.

"Thy brother would be much contented if thou wouldst do so," he said. "He did request that I ask thee to join us… and dost thou not desire to prove thy skill as thou didst fail to do when last we met?"

"I struck thee with five hits," Mercutio said indignantly. "Though thou didst refuse to accept it to be so, Tybalt."

"'Twas a good match," one of the other boys remarked. "Good sport to see."

"Improper nonetheless," Tybalt noted. "All five were in vain as they were of illegal make."

"'Each would have ran thee through proper or not in a true match," Mercutio retorted.

Tybalt shook his head in pity .at his uncouth acquaintance, which made the latter no less indignant.

"I could tutor thee on proper tactics, Mercutio," Tybalt offered. "If thou wouldst..."

"I desire no tutor," Mercutio snapped. "And I would learn better lessons from the rats thou dost feast upon."

A few of the other boys sniggered and a cold burst of umbrage flashed across Tybalt's countenance, but he soon regained his sublime smirk.

"Jest aside," he said. "Thou dost seem withdrawn from sport of late. What is the reason?"

"It does not concern thee," Mercutio said quickly. "Other tasks have taken the time for sport… important tasks; the likes of which exceed aught that thou couldst understand."

"Then, fare thee well with your most secretive 'important tasks'," Tybalt replied. "And it is mine own hope that perchance thy ill mood will end once they are done."

Mercutio scowled and marched off, leaving the Capulet children to their game. They were not fit to speak of his "ill mood", being so oblivious of its nature. Yet, he knew he could not explain the cause to them. Even if he did not so dread to speak of it, the mere thought of what his uncle and father would do to him if he dared to reveal a single word was truly terrifying.

At the opposite end of the square stood the grand walls of the city's cathedral with a series of steps leading to its lofty entrance. The area was relatively empty, as most of the crowds were concentrated near the marketplace, making it an ideal place for Mercutio to wait for his brother without being disturbed. There was another boy about his age sitting at the edge of the steps, reading a book and looking quite perplexed by its contents. Mercutio had seen him before though they had never spoken; he particularly desire to do so for that matter.

Mercutio drew his wooden sword and swung it at the air a few times. He thought not of the fanciful terms from the book of arithmetic which many seemed to revere, or the redundant rules of "dignified" duels. It seemed much more pleasurable to handle his feared "blade" as he would please. Life was too wrought with laws and decrees as it was.

"Pardon me."

The soft voice startled him, and Mercutio whipped around to see the boy with the book, holding up the text. His hands were shaking slightly.

"What dost thou want?" Mercutio demanded.

"There is a word here I have not yet learned," the boy answered. "And I need one who would define it."

"Why dost thou ask such things of me?"

The other boy seemed taken aback by Mercutio's tone. After taking a brief glance over his shoulder to assure that there was no one else he could pose his question to, he took a deep breath and continued.

"Mella is busied with other tasks," he said, indicating one of the serving women washing linens by the fountain. "And there is no one else to ask but thee…"

His voice faltered. Having made little progress with words, he stood silently and eyed the ground. To Mercutio's dismay, he showed no sign of leaving.

"Where is the word?" Mercutio sighed, deciding that the quickest way to be rid of this unwanted company was to satisfy the inquiry.

The other boy beamed.

"'Tis here," he said, pointing to his book.

Mercutio bent over to read the text and frowned.

"I know not the term," he said slowly. "Where didst thou find this?"

"In my father's study," the other replied, shrugging. "I misplaced mine own book and need another till I find it… but I know not half the words."

"'Tis a strange book."

"Thou know'st not what 'amorous rites' would be?"

"Nay, as I have told thee."

"Oh… I ought to have asked this before, what is thy name?"

"Mercutio Latini," Mercutio replied, frustrated by yet another question.

"I like thy name," the other child said.

He stared at Mercutio expectantly. Praying that this next exchange would be brief, Mercutio reluctantly conceded to common courtesy.

"What is thine?" he asked.

"Benvolio Montague," Benvolio seemed encouraged to continue after being asked his name. "How old art thou?"

"Near seven," Mercutio answered, petulantly. "Though I see not why 'twould matter to thee."

"I am six. Seven is a fine number too."

"I did not ask thee for thy age."

Mercutio glanced at the fountain to see whether the serving woman called Mella had finished her work at the fountain, hoping that she would take this irritating child away along with his senseless chatter. Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the case.

"Mella said that she shall be a while," Benvolio said, a trace of anxiety rising once more in his voice. "She is always busied with some task, but she said that I may follow her here… and Mother thinks it better that I do not remain within all day long. She says the sunlight shall benefit me… who brought thee here?"

"I came alone," Mercutio said shortly.

"Thou didst?" Benvolio seemed surprised by this response. "Mother forbade that I do so. She thinks it too dangerous."

"Valentine thinks that it is fine for me to do so at this hour."

"Who is Valentine?"

"My elder brother."

"What is he like?"

"Kind, I suppose."

"Ah." Benvolio said with a hint of sadness. "Mella hath told me that I had a brother as well, but he was born asleep and ne'er awoke… she said that I had a sister once too, though I cannot remember her. Now I have a cousin. He is named Romeo and he is too young to play. I attempted to speak with him once, and he spat at me. He does not speak well yet. He knows many more words now, but knows not how to handle them properly…"

Mercutio responded by turning away with a loud _humph_. This did not, to his dismay, discourage Benvolio who came to sit next to him on the stone steps of the cathedral.

"Dost thou know of any games?" the young Montague inquired, pushing a lock of dark curls out of his eyes.

"Nay," Mercutio replied irritably. "Why dost thou ask?"

"I had thought that perchance we could amuse ourselves with one, but we can discuss instead."

"What must we discuss?"

"I know not."

A period of silence passed between them in which Benvolio smiled nervously at his newfound acquaintance who looked about anxiously for his brother, tapping his foot impatiently against the lower step. To Mercutio's relief, they soon heard the gentle voice of a young woman calling Benvolio's name.

"Mella calls," Benvolio said, rising from the stairs. "I shall speak with thee anon?"

"Perchance," Mercutio sighed.

Benvolio grinned and turned to leave, only to return a moment later.

"Mercutio," his voice shook slightly once more. "May I ask thee one more question?"

"If it is brief," Mercutio said shortly.

"Dost thou think we are now companions?"

"I know not."

"Oh. Well… perhaps thou mayst consider it and tell me of thy decision later?"

"I suppose."

"Ah… fare thee well then!"

"Farewell," Mercutio muttered.

With that, Benvolio skipped off after the serving-girl called Mella. Mercutio eyed him, wondering why he had not simply demanded that Benvolio leave earlier. Amongst the ceaseless questions and inane remarks, there was ever a note of diffident apprehension in the other child's words. It seemed cruel to be brusque when one so demure had grown bold enough to speak, but Mercutio knew not why this mattered. What would a few harsh words matter when the boy would only hurry home, perhaps weep to a mother who'd coddle him in return, and rest soundly that night, satiated and content.

Sharp words meant naught to pampered fools.

The smothering noon sunlight did not make the wait for Valentine seem any briefer. Of course, the growing hunger upon having been denied both breakfast and the previous evening's supper did not hasten what felt like hours. By the time his brother arrived, Mercutio was sweltering in his black tunic and particularly ill tempered.

"Where were…" Mercutio began irritably before drawing back upon noticing Valentine's scowl.

"How long hast thou waited here?" Valentine sounded greatly exhausted, as he came to sit by his younger brother.

"An hour, perchance." Mercutio replied.

"I had feared 'twould be longer," Valentine muttered shaking his head. "Still, I do believe 'twas indeed longer… and that it is rather a matter of thou being'st late. Thou didst not sleep after I left thee tonight."

He glanced about to affirm the safety of the conversation before adding softly, "I warrant that thou didst not awaken at an hour acceptable to Father."

"Ay, it was so." Mercutio admitted, eying the steps below him.

Valentine heaved a long sigh, clutching his forehead as though he was suddenly dizzy. After taking a few moments to gather himself, he rose from the stairs and beckoned to Mercutio.

"He shall be away tonight," he said. "Yet, his absence shall not endure long enough to condone imprudence. Come, let us return home 'ere more of the day is lost. Thou hast had thy fill of the sun and open air for this day… or if thou hast not, thou shalt make do with what thou hast been granted."

"Why does it matter if Father shall not be there?" Mercutio protested.

"Because I cannot trust thee to return home at a sensible hour on thy own charge," Valentine replied sharply. "And I do not desire to wander about every alley and path of Verona at the peak of night in search of thee when I will certainly have to cope with one of Mother's fits once more tonight."

"Valentine?" Mercutio asked hesitantly.

"Whatever is it now?" Valentine snapped.

"I do not suppose you have brought any food with you."

Judging by his brother's ill temper, Mercutio doubted that the response would be particularly agreeable. This was not the first occasion during which Valentine had grown cantankerous for seemingly no cause, nor was it the worst among others. These happenings had grown more frequent in the recent months; Mercutio was both dismayed and unnerved by the fact.

"Dost thou take me for a merchant in the marketplace?" Valentine groaned. "For lest it be so, I do not conceive any reason for thy inquiry."

"Pardon me," Mercutio said quietly. "'Twas an inane remark."

A sliver of remorse seemed to soften Valentine's glare, though it did not bring about any consoling words. He clutched his head once more and muttered a few indiscernible curses before continuing on the path home. Mercutio hurried after him, wondering what troublesome business Valentine had embarked upon in the morning. Perhaps it was better that he was not told of it.

Mercutio's father departed in the late evening, granting neither a reason nor a single farewell. The young boy thought little of it, simply locking himself in his bed chamber and busying himself with a book, waiting for Valentine. When the latter arrived, he was pleased to see that Valentine had emerged from his sullen phase, though he still appeared to have a slight headache.

"How fares mother?" Mercutio asked, after he had finished the few morsels of food Valentine had saved from the past two missed meals.

"Living and well enough, though she'd likely tell thee differently," Valentine said, taking another sip from the glass bottle he loathed. "She has been pacified such that I may leave her, and hope that the serving girls can cope with what will follow. Thou need'st not worry thyself o'er it whilst there are greater conundrums to be dealt with."

He titled the bottle to his lips, and upon realizing that it was empty, tossed it to the side.

"Zounds," he groaned, before turning back to Mercutio and frowning upon realizing his failure to censor himself; the younger boy found this quite amusing, but his smile quickly faded as Valentine's gaze grew grim once more.

"Mercutio," he said, sternly. "I have warned thee on numerous occasions against even the slightest misconduct during the upcoming stay in the royal household."

"I shan't be late returning home 'ere the departure," Mercutio recited. "Nor shall I be insolent to Paris, or any other of my superiors, nor shall I attempt to gain aid where only scorn will follow…"

"Thou hast proven thy ability to repeat my counsel by rote," Valentine sighed. "But such does not serve to convince me that a single word bears any weight to thee. Thou art not lacking in wit for one of thy age, but when fearful, thou canst be especially foolish in thy rashness. I can only attempt control, which I shall do, but I do pray thee to not resist my efforts as thou didst on the last occasion."

Mercutio decided it was wiser not to protest. He yawned and nodded, wriggling underneath the blankets.

"Valentine?" he said. "May I ask you a question?"

"Ay," Valentine said shortly.

"What are 'amorous rites'?"

Valentine paused as though debating between answers before finally saying, "We shall discuss this tomorrow. I am far too wearied for an apt explanation. Prithee, sleep."

"Good night," Mercutio mumbled, as his brother left for his own bed.

To Mercutio's dismay, Valentine was still "too exhausted" to explain the enigmatic term from Benvolio's book in the morning.


End file.
